


One Half of a Whole

by ugliegay



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Affection, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses, cause of all the fluff, like i may or may not have cried while writing this, this is literally just straight up fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:03:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9195377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ugliegay/pseuds/ugliegay
Summary: Even though Viktor's Free Skate program sweeps gold in every event, there's still something missing.(Alternatively: really fluffy, sappy introspection behind the pair skating scene)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to the Yuri on Ice fandom. This is my first work for y'all so I'm still unsure but I hope y'all like it. 
> 
> I have so many feelings for this anime. It's so beautiful and I want to do nothing but bless Kubo for the rest of her life for making this masterpiece. I unfortunately cannot do that so I'm giving back in the form of my mediocre fanfic. I adore Viktor and Yuuri's relationship and this is the only way I could express that adoration. 
> 
> -
> 
> This is for my beautiful girlfriend. Every day I talk to them,, it's like I'm winning gold myself. Find them on tumblr (@rnattmurdock) if you want to be blessed be their wonderful personality.

“Mr. Nikiforov! Mr. Nikiforov! Look here!”

“Mr. Nikiforov! What was your inspiration for your last Free Skate program of the season?”

“What are your plans for the upcoming season, Mr Nikiforov?”

“There are rumours that you are retiring now that you have swept gold here. Is this true?”

“Mr. Nikiforov, your Free Skate program dazzled the audience and earned a record breaking score. What was your process for creating such a beautiful program?”

Vikor zeroes in on the last question and turns toward the voice. He peers into the brilliant green eyes of young reporter and he knows he can trust her. She seems uninterested in the speculation and rumours flying through the air. So is Viktor.

“Ah, yes my Free Program,” he says, lowering his scarf from over his mouth. “What do you want to know about it?”

The clamour of voices dies down as they all gather around him. They know the green-eyed reporter has his attention. She’s the one who got the story first.

“Um, well,” she begins, shaking.

She’s young and inexperienced, Viktor can tell by the terrified glint in her eye. If she doesn’t begin speaking soon, her story will be devoured by the others.

So he speaks on his own.

“Well I had my own music composed for it, like always,” he says with a swoop of his hair and smile on his lips. “I wanted it to match the theme I had chosen already,” He pauses for second before winking at the green eyed reporter and delivering his last line. “Romance.”

His PR team is going to be proud.

The reporters erupt into another clamour of questions and speculations. With utmost confidence, he answers the next question.

“The program is entitled ‘Stay Close to Me’. It seems to be modeled after a romantic relationship, yet you skate it alone. What is the reasoning behind this?”

It’s an ESPN reporter. Viktor mentally scolds himself for paying attention to this man, but it’s too late, he’s already hooked. Somehow, he will find a way to twist this into a question about Viktor’s career. He absently wonders when Yakov is going to step in and save him.

Viktor slips his gaze the corner of his eye for a quarter of a second and sees Yakov chatting away with his own swarm of reporters. He has to answer this one on his own.

“Well, you see, my coach thought my music would put everyone to sleep,” he says with a chuckle. Some let out genuine laughs with him, but most are stiff and forced, raking at Viktor’s eardrums like nails on a chalkboard.

“But I said ‘Yakov, it’s not just the music. It’s the tale I tell.’ I had costume hand sewn a local seamstress but in St. Petersburg, uh, the song commissioned by one of Italy's most famed opera singers. I wanted to take the audience back to a fairytale romance. If you want to imagine me with a lover, then that’s up to you, да?”

He manages to get through the answer without slipping up, but the questions keep coming. His throat starts to feel dry. He prays that Yakov has a water bottle ready for him.

“What sort of lover should we imagine, Mr. Nikiforov?”

The question comes from a young, French woman with curly hair that cascades down her back. She bats her eyelashes at him and bites her lip. She must be new to the skating world. A female reporter hasn’t flirted with him since his Junior days. He almost laughs and sees the amused glints in the experienced reporters’ eyes. Not very many people hold the belief that he is straight anymore....

“Well,” Viktor begins, licking his lips. He raises a finger to his chin in thought, debating whether or not to give his PR department a collective heart attack. As reckless as he wants to be, he goes for a safe response. “We can imagine what we want, but me personally, I’m imagining someone tall and dark haired.”

Just vague enough for both the press and his PR team to work with. He fights the urge to flash a smirk.

“Do you think this routine is incomplete without a real lover?”

The question cracks through the crowd. Viktor’s face falls. Did he really just hear a jab at his love life? Or were they asking about his performance?

His eyes flash back to Yakov, who remains talking in depth to a Russian reporter. He then glances back at the eager crowd of reporters, desperately begging for someone else to ask him a different question. They don’t and the seconds tick on with silence. He’s forced to answer.

“Well…” he begins in a shaky voice.

Viktor squeezes his eyes closed. He remembers his first year in the Junior division when he was able to pretend he didn’t know English. It’s no use now. They know better. Everyone knows better.

“You know, Yakov told me that my routine would work better for a pair skate. I almost agreed to it too, but the song is missing a voice. The program was designed to stand by itself, but suggests something more,” he says, not looking at a single reporter.

Now the PR team is going to have a collective heart attack.

Viktor gives the crowd a closed lip smile and turns toward Yakov. “No more questions,” he mutters weakly before he taps his coach on the shoulder.

“ _Let’s get going_ ,” he mutters in his native tongue. “ _I miss home_ ,” he adds.

Yakov, the uptight, hard old man, immediately softens his face. He knows just what his pupil is feeling at the moment. He’d seen that look of dejection in Viktor’s blue eyes before.

“ _No more questions, please,_ ” Yakov says to the reporter.

The pair walk into the airport in silence. It’s not like the awkward, biting silence between weird questions; it’s the comfortable silence between two people that have known each other their whole lives. Yakov’s like a father to him. He’s been there through every fall and every bad performance. He knows how those reporters can get under Viktor’s skin.

“ _Vitya, no matter what you decide with your career, I’ll back you up,_ ” Yakov says, clapping a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“Да…”

That isn’t the problem. It’s the issue of that question. It still resonates in his bones and shakes him to the core.

The program is incomplete. He is incomplete.

Viktor sighs and continues walking on to check his luggage in. Back to St. Petersburg he goes. Back to that lonely, lonely apartment...

-

Viktor wakes up curled around a warm, snoring bundle. His smile could light a thousand of the darkest rooms as he looks on at the rise and fall of the blankets.

“Yuuri,” he murmurs softly, pulling the mass closer and kissing it's mop of dark hair. “Time to get up for practice.”

“Five more minutes,” the mass groans back at him.

Viktor laughs and whistles, awakening yet another slumbering bundle from the edge of their bed. Makkachin peaks his head up and cocks his head at Viktor.

“Go get him, Makkachin,” he commands.

Viktor untangles himself from Yuuri just as Makka bounds to Yuuri’s face. He attacks the slumbering man with a fury of excited licks straight to the face.

Yuuri flails beneath the dog, letting out a screech of surprise. “Ah!” he exclaims, shoving Makka’s head away from his own. “Okay I’m awake! I’m awake!” He sits up and rubs his eyes while Makka settles on the floor.

He turns to look at Viktor with a frown and sighs in mock irritation. “I was hoping to be woken up by a different kind of kisses…” he trails, looking up at Viktor through his eyelashes.

The two lock eyes, before Viktor bounds forward and captures Yuuri’s lips in soft, chaste kiss. Yuuri flutters his eyelids shut and melts into the embrace. “I love you so much, Vitya” he whispers against Viktor’s lips.

“I love you too, my katsudon,” Viktor murmurs back, eyes still closed.

They continue to kiss for a few minutes in the warm sun streaming through the windows, just holding each other close. The heated, passionate kisses from the previous night replay in both of their minds. Viktor’s hand traces lightly over the the purpling love bite on his neck as he opens his mouth.

Still, their lips are sweet and forgiving against each other. The night was the time for heated kisses and rough hands. This morning is the time for touches as soft as Makka’s fur and love declarations that could put Shakespeare’s 18th sonnet to shame.

The pair break apart with much reluctance as well as a need for breath. “I forget about your stamina,” Viktor laughs, still holding Yurri’s smiling face in his hands.

He looks ridiculously beautiful with his lips swollen and his brown eyes glistening in the early morning light. Viktor can feel his heart turn to putty when Yuuri lets out a happy sigh and asks in a groggy, morning voice, “Can you get my glasses for me, Vitya?”

“Anything for you,” Viktor replies, “my precious sleeping beauty.” The line is cheesy and draws a groan Yuuri, his cheeks crimson with blush.

He leans over and grabs Yuuri’s blue frames off of the nightstand. Carefully, he unfolds the glasses and places them on Yuuri’s red face.

“Ah, finally,” he murmurs, “I can see your beautiful, blue eyes.”

“Yuuri, you’re nearsighted.”

“Shh, you’re ruining the moment.”

“Well,” Viktor speaks in his coaching voice, which draws a sigh from Yuuri, “if I’m already ruining the moment, we are incredibly late for practice and Yakov is going to take our heads off if we don’t get there soon.”

They still take their time, getting out of bed between chaste kisses and lingering touches. Their hands never break apart.

They take a shower together of course. Viktor likes to shampoo Yuuri’s hair and chat away about the latest figure skating gossip. Yuuri sighs in happiness and leans back onto Viktor’s sturdy chest. The hot water beats down on them. They both just stand under the stream, Yuuri’s hair still filled with suds, and appreciate the presence of the other. Viktor steals a couple of soapy kisses before he lets Yuuri stand under the water and rinse his hair.

“How late do you think we’re going to be?”’ he asks, tipping his head back and washing the bubbles from his dark brown locks.

Viktor has already made his way out of the bath and stands on the side of the curtain, towelling his body down. “Impressively,” he responds with a smile. “I’m going to go get changed and start on breakfast. Join me can when you're ready, да?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri replies breathlessly, staring at the band of gold around his ring finger. For the smallest moment, he wonders how on earth he pulled this all off, how his idol has suddenly became the love of his life, how he gets to wake up every morning to those beautiful blue eyes and that groggy Russian accent.

Yuuri doesn't need to know how, though. He just needs to appreciate every moment with Viktor. He needs to savour every small kiss, every affectionate hug.

They eat breakfast together too. They stretch together with Makka alongside. They catch the train hand in hand, both gripping travel mugs filled with Yuuri’s favourite mint tea. They arrive at the rink, still wrapped around each other even when Yukov yells at them for being an hour late.

And they begin their practice right away. It's a Free Skate program for a gala held only for the winners of the Grand Prix. It's only three days away now, but the two have much work to do.

Even through the falls and the embarrassing mistakes, Viktor and Yuuri hold onto each other. The others look on in enchantment. They flow so perfectly together, like two halves of one whole. When they do a full run through, Yakov claps and cheers for them the loudest.

Just three days until they show the world just how perfect they are for each other.

-

Viktor stands poised in the corner of the rink. His eyes follow Yuuri as he skates to the center, shooting a smile to the crowd. Viktor knows he's nervous, he can tell by the way Yuuri’s chest is heaving under the weight of the costume and his cheeks are tinged red. Viktor lets out a small whistle.

Yuuri hears it and his body immediately relaxes. A genuine smile spreads across his face before he gets into position for their program.

The music starts; a single D♯ signifying the beginning of the program. Viktor smiles warmly at the memories, every single time Yuuri missed that D♯ because he was too busy flirting or staring. He doesn't miss it this time though. Yuuri moves with the music. He starts with the swoop of his head downward, something Viktor remembers doing a thousand times over and over again. Yuuri’s own movements are a thousand times better than his ever were.

Then, the crowd realises exactly what's happening. The Italian words float across the ice and twist with Yuuri’s fluid movements. The dazzling prince’s costume looks perfect on him just as it suited Viktor so long ago. They see him doing that famed routine, but it's no longer Viktor’s. It’s Yuuri’s in all his twisting and flowing glory.

He gears up for a jump, spreading his legs and curling his body straight into the first quad. His glittering form spins gracefully under the spotlight and lands back down on the ice without a single flaw. The audience erupts into applause as Viktor feels his eyes well up with tears. He's come a long way since Viktor showed up to coach him.

Yuuri skates almost straight into the next jump and lands it without a single mistake. Viktor tenses up, hearing the swell of the music.

Yuuri turns toward him with soft brown eyes that call Viktor forward. He pushes off the ice just as Yuuri takes off for his third jump. He lands it with ease and then spins with one arm open to Viktor.

Yuuri's body opens up to him. Viktor meets him halfway there.

They join hands for only a millisecond, but the touch travels to each other’s arms then to cup Viktor’s face. They don’t linger like their touches under warm blanket or hot streams of water, but their hands, nor eyes, never stay off the other.

The female voice joins the music in perfect time for their first lift. “Stay close to me,” the lyrics whisper in Italian as Viktor’s hands find Yuuri’s on his own hips. Yuuri pushes off the ice while Viktor’s arms lift upwards. They twirl around each other, blue eyes meeting brown in a warm, loving gaze. Viktor dips Yuuri down, remembering the last time they performed this move off of the rink. The man in his arms was intoxicated off of sixteen flutes of champagne, smiling and pulling Viktor closer by his tie. He smiles briefly, cheeks afire with red.

They spin together some more until they come face to face, flowing around the back edge of the rink. Yuuri’s palm tenderly cups Viktor’s face. Viktor’s eyes are already closed, nuzzling into the small touch as if he never wants it to end. Their gazes meet again, full of affection and untold stories of a love that could only be born on the ice.

They prepare for yet another lift, pressing Yuuri firmly against Viktor’s chest. His hands find Yuuri’s underarms and lift him above the ice, triumphant and graceful as a prince in his own castle. Setting him down, they move into the step sequence in perfect time with each other.

The two move in perfect, dazzling harmony, the like a Soprano and a Metzo. They're so different from each other, any commentor could tell you that. They're the light and the dark, the moon and the sun, but together they are so much more.

They meet each other again, Yuuri taking the lead this time. He holds Viktor close, enough so that he can feel the other man’s heartbeat in the sync with his own. They switch the roles as the voices take turns belting out their love declarations for each other.

They end the program curled around each other as if nothing in the world could separate them. The last violin notes ring out with their faces just centimeters apart.

The words of that reporter come to mind. “Do you think this routine is incomplete without a real lover?” Staring at Yuuri’s face in his arms, eyes closed and lips parted, he knows the answer.

Thunderous applause sounds throughout the whole stadium. Bouquets and stuffed toys and gifts of all kinds are thrown their way. Viktor joins his hand with Yuuri’s and lifts it above their heads with a triumphant cry. Yakov is one of the first among the crowd to stand up, cheering with a smile Viktor never thought he’d see in his lifetime.

In that moment, he’s taken back to almost two years ago now. Viktor was playing the song for Yakov to hear for the very first time. The man had looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a closed lip frown.

“This is the music that's going to get you the gold?” he had asked in disbelief.

Now, with their jointed hands raised over their heads, the golden sheen of their rings catches Viktor’s eyes. Yuuri seems to be looking at the same thing. He pulls Viktor in and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

“I love you,” he whispers to Viktor.

“I love you too,” comes Viktor’s choked reply, “so much.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> All reads, kudos, and/or comments are very much so welcomed, encouraged, and appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
